


lean on me

by Cherry Bomb (ShowMeAHero)



Category: Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live Sketches
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Nausea, Sickfic, Vomiting, stomach flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/Cherry%20Bomb
Summary: When Stefon gets back to their house, he feels like he’s dead on his feet.
Relationships: Seth Meyers/Stefon
Comments: 5
Kudos: 79





	lean on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emeiyonemillion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeiyonemillion/gifts).



> For [emeiyonemillion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeiyonemillion)!

When Stefon gets back to their house, he feels like he’s dead on his feet.

Dragging one hand down his face, he jams the key in the lock on the front door. He stayed out far too late at a new hole-in-the-wall place that opened up, but he really didn’t have any other choice. Besides the fact that it’s pretty much his job to know everything there is to know about these places, he was with his friends and things just… got out of hand from there.

If he’s being honest with himself, he wasn’t feeling great when he’d showed up at the club, but he’d powered through it.

He’s realizing now he probably shouldn’t’ve. It takes a couple of tries to get the key in the lock, drunk as he is, but he finally manages it. Their dogs aren’t near the front door when he finally gets in, so he figures they — and Seth — must be asleep in their bedroom.

Carefully, he shuts the front door behind himself, trying to be as quiet as he can be. Every tiny sound feels magnified thanks to his pounding headache, so he’s not sure if he succeeds. Based on the fact that their bedroom light flicks on down the hall, though, he’s guessing not.

“Stef?” Seth’s voice calls out. Just that rasping shout grates on the inside of Stefon’s head, and he groans, hand fumbling on the doorknob as he tries to lock it behind himself. He finally, _finally_ gets it, then drops his keys in the dish by their coat rack.

Abruptly, Seth’s right in front of him, appearing as if out of nowhere. Stefon jumps, hand to his chest, cursing, “The _fuck_ did you come from?”

“I called your name twice,” Seth tells him, brows furrowed like he’s concerned. “Did you hear me?”

Uh. “The first time, yeah.”

Seth’s frown deepens as his hand comes up to press against Stefon’s cheek, then up to his forehead. “You’re burning up. Are you sick?”

“No,” Stefon says, even though he has no way of knowing if that’s true or not. “I was just— I drank too much. Sorry I was out late.”

“You… What time is it?” Seth asks. He squints in the direction of their illuminated clock under the television. “It’s past one, Stef.”

“Jesus, it is?” Stefon asks. “I don’t… _Really?”_

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Seth asks suspiciously, rather than answering his question. In fairness to Seth, it _is_ a stupid question. The clock for sure says it’s past one o’clock, but he can barely read it with his head pounding and his eyes burning like this.

“Mm,” Stefon makes himself answer. In honesty, he forgot he’d been asked anything, and Seth clearly knows it, too.

“Alright, c’mon,” Seth says, dragging Stefon towards the hallway.

“Where’re we going?” Stefon asks. He closes his eyes and lets Seth guide him, stumbling now and then on nothing but his own feet. The lights are too bright to keep his eyes open, even if there’s not really much of them right now. It all just feels like too _much._

“Stef,” Seth says, and Stefon gets the idea it’s not the first time he said it. “Alright, sit. You’re burning up.”

Stefon just does as he’s told, sitting down on the closed toilet seat lid when Seth pushes him down on it. He folds around himself, burying his face in his legs so the harsh light above their heads doesn’t stab at his eyelids anymore.

“Sit up,” Seth instructs him. It takes a moment before Stefon can convince his body to obey, but he pulls it off, slowly dragging himself into an upright position. The motion makes his stomach churn, and he groans again, throwing his arm up over his eyes and across his face.

“Can you turn that shit off?” Stefon asks.

“What?”

“The light—”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Seth says, and Stefon hears the _snap_ of the lightswitch. “It’s off. Can you put your arm down for me?”

He doesn’t want to, but he does, feeling childishly miserable the entire time. The lights are off in the bathroom, just like Seth said, but he doesn’t feel any better. Seth leans into his face, cupping his cheeks in his hands, pulling down on his eyelids. Stefon swats him away, but Seth’s not deterred.

“You look like shit,” Seth decides. “I’m gonna give you something and you’re going right to bed, alright?”

“Gimme what?” Stefon asks. “Hair of the dog? Because I—” His stomach flips again, sending a sick gurgle up his esophagus, and he burps into his fist. It makes him abruptly ten times queasier than he had been, the room spinning. He forces his eyes shut. “Oh, fuck.”

“Are you okay?” Seth asks. Stefon wants to tell him it’s a stupid question, but he can’t get his mouth open— or, at least, he can’t trust himself _to_ open his mouth. He feels like the contents of his stomach will come pouring out the second he unclenches his teeth.

Instead, he just shakes his head. Even though his eyes are closed, the motion makes him feel like he’s spinning all over again, and he wraps his arms around himself, doubling over again. Seth’s hand lands on his shoulder, trying to help him up again, but he pushes him off.

“Are you gonna be sick?” Seth asks which, again, dumb question. He drank _way_ too much, and he can feel it all churning in his belly now, swirling into a sick, bloated mess. He groans when he tries to get up again, but he knows he needs to get off the toilet just so he can situate himself in front of it.

“Okay, good, there you go,” Seth says, once he’s on his feet. He holds him up with a hand wrapped firmly around his arm as he opens up the toilet seat lids for him which, God fucking bless him. Stefon’s so miserable he can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed when Seth helps lower him down to his knees on the bathroom tile.

His stomach audibly sloshes when he shifts down onto the floor, and he groans again, ducking his head over the toilet bowl. Nothing comes up, but he does gag weakly, which is enough to make him know he’s gonna have to stay here for a while.

“You’re on fire,” Seth says. “Hold still, I’m gonna grab our thermometer.”

Stefon frowns, but he just shuts his eyes again and tips his face towards the toilet water. He can’t see where he is, but he can feel the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl under his cheek, so he just keeps his head where it is. He’s still fully dressed, shoes and all, but he knows any movement’s just gonna upset his stomach even more.

“Is it just your stomach that hurts?” Seth asks, voice close again as he crouches down beside Stefon again. He strokes his hair back from his sweaty face.

“No,” Stefon manages to answer. “M… My head, and my—” He’s cut off by another belch rolling up, making his stomach seethe with sickness and too much foamy craft beer. He whimpers, retching, but still nothing comes up. When he’s finally able to breathe again, he says, “M’head and my— my skin feels too tight, and I’m— I was sick in the morning, I just didn’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Seth stops him. Stefon sobs once, curling up closer to the toilet bowl as his belly sloshes again. “Can you open your mouth for me so I can check your temperature?”

Stefon shakes his head, but Seth just keeps rubbing his back until he nods and opens his mouth for him. It’s overwhelming, too many sensations at once, but Seth slips the thermometer under his tongue and gently guides his mouth closed again. His jaw feels too heavy, and his whole head feels like it’s being compressed, but he keeps the thermometer in place.

As he’s sitting there, half-aware of what’s going on and half-disoriented, his stomach rolls again. Gagging, he shoots up, ripping the thermometer out of his mouth as it pushes too far and triggers his gag reflex. Seth takes the thermometer from his hands quickly so Stefon can grip the toilet bowl and retch into it.

“Just let it up, it’s okay,” Seth tells him, rubbing his back firmly. Stefon whimpers again, feeling more nauseous than he thinks he’s ever felt in his life, even though he can’t actually get anything to come up. He reaches down, rubbing his belly where he feels it gurgling. He can feel a ripple burble across the surface of his stomach under his hand as it roils up his throat and comes out as another belch, deeper and wetter this time.

Seth keeps rubbing his back as he tries to catch his breath. After a second, he says, “The thermometer says your temperature is over 100. So, probably more likely that this is a stomach flu?”

“I still drank too much,” Stefon tells him pitifully. He burps again, the backs of his teeth feeling sticky as he does. “Fuck.”

“I gotcha,” Seth says. “You’re okay, it’ll be over soon and you’ll feel better once it’s all out. Then I’ll give you medicine and you can go to bed, alright? You’ll be better in no time.”  
“Stop _talking,”_ Stefon says. “You’re too pretty to talk this much.”

Seth laughs at his delirious half-slurred words and says, “Alright, sorry.”

“No, I didn’t mean it,” Stefon apologizes immediately, lifting his head halfway. “‘M’sorry, I jus’ don’t feel good. Sorry.”

“It’s _okay,_ Stef,” Seth assures him. “I promise. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on feeling better, okay?”

Stefon groans again at the reminder, curling back up in on himself. “I feel like _shit,_ Seth.”

“I know,” Seth says. “But you’ll be all better soon.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Seth replies. “Just relax, okay? You’ll be okay.”

Stefon nods, shifting to sit up over the toilet again, letting the lines of his shoulders relax. His skin feels stretched too tight, aching all over as another belch rolls up his spine and falls out of his mouth. Seth keeps rubbing his back as Stefon pushes into his belly where the gurgles are the worst. The organ lets out a squelching whine, and he sobs, retching up a small trickle of foamy bile.

“There you go,” Seth says. “C’mon, almost there.”

The taste is so horrible that Stefon gags again around it, belching up a mouthful of acidic vomit this time. He lets his mouth fall open, jaw hanging loose as he leans over the water and finally belches up a thick wave of puke this time. Groaning, he shifts upward so he can brace himself against the back of the toilet.

“I got you,” Seth says, and Stefon can feel that it’s true; he’s holding him up by the shoulders, keeping him upright so he doesn’t have to support his own weight. Stefon wants to thank him, but now that he’s started, he’s finding it impossible to stop. He belches up another wave of vomit, semi-digested bar food and foamy beer mixed with his stomach acid rocketing out of him.

He doesn’t even remember eating as much as he pukes back up, but he feels like he’s sick for half an hour before he finally catches his breath and can lean back again. Seth guides him backwards against his chest, letting him fall into the bracket of his legs as he flushes the toilet for him.

“Do you feel better?” Seth asks. Stefon shakes his head. “Yikes. Really? Because that was— Quite a show, if I’m being honest with you.”

“Don’t be,” Stefon says weakly, throat rasping. He burps shallowly, then says, “Just lie to me. Tell me I look great.”

“Babe, you look _great,”_ Seth lies, badly and dramatically. Stefon just gives him a weak chuckle before twisting to bury his face in the soft, warm fabric of Seth’s pajama shirt.

“I wanna sleep,” Stefon tells him. Seth nods, shifting to stand. “No, _no,_ I can’t leave here, I’m _sick.”_

“Are you gonna throw up again?” Seth asks, and Stefon nods, frowning. “Are you _sure—”_

Before Seth can even finish asking his question, Stefon’s rocketing forward onto his knees again over the toilet bowl, belching up another watery stream of sick. Seth kneels down beside him and rubs his back again.

“Sorry,” he says. “Shouldn’t have asked. Should’ve just trusted you.”

“You’ll learn someday,” Stefon tells him, trying to joke before he retches again. Seth waits until he’s done, rubbing his back until he catches his breath and leans back again, before he starts standing again. “I thought I made it _very_ clear I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll be right back, you just stay here,” Seth says. Stefon frowns, but he lets Seth prop him up in the corner of the bathroom where the wall met the bathtub before vanishing from the dark room. He can see that there’s still a light on in their bedroom, because it’s filtering dimly down the hallway, but it distantly flicks off in the moments before Seth returns.

He comes back with what seems to be _all_ the blankets and pillows off their bed, their dogs trailing behind him sleepily.

“If you’re in here all night, so am I,” Seth says, in response to Stefon’s tired, questioning look. He drops the pillows down beside Stefon and starts arranging the blankets to his liking. “We may as well be comfortable.”

“You don’t have to stay in here,” Stefon says. “I’m disgusting. Plus, you’ll just get sick, too.”

“Aha,” Seth exclaims. “So you admit you’re sick!”

“Please, babe, my fucking head,” Stefon whines, hiding his face in the closest blanket to him. Seth apologizes softly, running his fingers through Stefan’s lank hair where it’s stuck to his scalp with sweat. “You’re gonna get sick, though. You shouldn’t be here.”

“If you’re sick, I’m gonna catch it,” Seth assures him. “Nothing I do now will change that. Just let me take care of you.”  
After a miserable second, Stefon nods, lifting his head just slightly so he can look at Seth as he does it. Seth’s expression looks impossibly fond as he climbs into the messy nest of blankets and pillows they’ve made on the bedroom floor.

“Then you’ll drink this medicine,” Seth says. Stefon groans, turning away from him.

“You _tricked me,”_ Stefon grumbles. Seth guides him back to face him again, and Stefon knows it’s for the best, he _knows it is,_ but the medicine tastes so _gross_ he nearly coughs it back up immediately.

“Keep it down,” Seth warns him. “As best as you can, okay? It’ll help, it’ll make you feel better.”

Stefon swallows, but he wishes he could do literally _anything_ else. Seth guides him into laying down again, the bottle of medicine laying abandoned beside them until he needs to take it again in 4-6 hours, depending on when he wakes up again.

Based on the way his stomach rolls weakly at the thought, he guesses he’ll probably be awake again sooner than that. He should probably set a timer for the medicine.

His mind is hazy, thoughts floating away just as soon as they come to him, so he doesn’t set a timer. Instead, he just curls into Seth’s side, tightly wrapped around himself into a ball around his sick belly as he tries to get comfortable enough to sleep. With Seth’s cool fingers brushing across his forehead, running through his hair, he’s able to relax enough to yawn.

“There you go,” Seth tells him softly, his voice a rumbling murmur in his chest. Stefon feels more than hears it under his cheek where his ear is pressed over Seth’s steady heartbeat. “Get some sleep. I’m right here.”

Stefon does as he’s told, shifting to fully hide his face in Seth’s chest as he falls into a fitful, sick sleep, reassured that he was being well taken care of in the waking world while he slept off the worst of his stomach bug.


End file.
